A Year Like None Other

aspeninthesunlight

Story Summary:
A letter from home? A letter from family? Well, Harry Potter knows he has neither, but all the same, it starts with a letter from Surrey. A letter that sends Harry down a path he'd never have walked on his own. It will be a year of big changes, a year of great pain, and a year of confronting worst fears. It will be a year of surprising discoveries, of finding true strength, of finding out that first impressions of a person's true colours do not always ring true. It will be a year of paradigm shifts. And from the most unexpected sources, Harry will have a chance to have that which he has never known: a home ... and a family. (A Snape adopts Harry fic.)
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Chapter 28 - After Midnight

Posted:
05/15/2006
Hits:
6,813
Author's Note:
Betaed by the Fabulous Mercredi.

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, or this fictional universe. JK Rowling, some publishers, and some film companies own everything. I'm not making anything from this except a hobby.

Summary: A letter from home sends Harry down a path he'd never have walked on his own. A sixth year fic, this story follows Order of the Phoenix and disregards any canon events that occur after Book 5. Spoilers for the first five books. Have fun!

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A Year Like None Other

by Aspen in the Sunlight

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Chapter Twenty-Eight:
After Midnight

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Harry woke up to the sound of a furious voice shouting in outrage, "What are you doing in here?"

Groggy, he opened his eyes. Reflex, since he couldn't even detect light levels. He pushed up with a groan, and asked, "Ron? Is that you?"

"Damned straight it's me," Ron snarled, stepping across the floor as though headed into battle.

Hermione's voice broke into the fray. "Put that wand away, Ron! His isn't out, and you might hit Harry!"

"Not," Ron sneered, "until he tells us what he thinks he's doing! Harry, why are you letting him sit in here?"

"There's no letting to it, since I was asleep until you started screaming your head off," Harry retorted, grumpy. "And I'm blind, in case nobody's thought to mention it! How should I know who's in here?"

A chair scraped back as someone stood up.

"Well, what of it?" Ron pressed, his voice directed over Harry's head, that time. "What do you think you were doing, hanging about in here while Harry's asleep?"

"I think," came Draco Malfoy's slightly sneering tones, "that I was waiting for him to wake up. I suppose I could have shouted to achieve my aim, like you did, but that's a bit common, don't you think?" Draco drew a breath. "So what did you think I was doing, Weasley?"

"Waiting to hex him, more likely!"

"You're the one with the wand out," Draco drawled, the toe of his boot tapping on the hard stone of the floor. "And really! If I'd had the slightest urge to hex him, why would I have been waiting around? I have much better things to do than waste my time."

"Then why are you in here, Malfoy?" Hermione questioned. Something in her calm tone made Harry think she'd put a hand on Ron's wand arm.

"You're the smart one, Granger," Draco came back. "I thought it would be obvious. I was sitting with him, and I was letting myself be seen sitting with him. Put that together with the fact that I'm definitely not in here to waste my time, and figure it out."

He walked out without a word to Harry.

"Merlin's balls, Harry!" Ron exclaimed, dragging over a chair for Hermione before he sat down in the one Draco had vacated. "What do you think he meant by all that?"

"Oh, what does he always mean?" Harry sighed. "It's some Slytherin plot. Listen, I have no idea why he'd come sniffing around; I'm just glad you guys stopped by. The thought that he was sitting there, right next to me, while I was asleep and helpless and blind, and without my wand?" He shivered. "I don't know why Pomfrey would let him. It's not exactly a secret that he'd just love a ticket straight to Voldemort's heart. What better way than through me?"

"Yeah, what's wrong with that Pomfrey?"

Before Ron could get too far into that topic, Hermione leaned close and spoke. "So, how are you feeling?"

"Oh, fine," Harry lied. She hadn't touched him, but she was near enough that she could, and Harry found that even the idea made him feel all jittery inside. He pushed back on his hands to give himself more room, but the pressure on his palms and arms made him wince.

"Harry..." she chided. "The truth."

He angled her a sheepish smile, and wished he could see her expression. Tone of voice only went so far in conveying emotion; he wondered just what nuances he was missing every time anybody spoke to him. "Oh, I'm sore," he admitted. "Really sore, all over, and I have an awful headache most of the time. Probably because of my eyes. Um, I don't know how much they told you? About what happened?"

"You don't have to talk about it, mate," Ron assured him, placing a small box in his palm. Even that made him shrink back a little. "Here, we brought you some Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans."

Harry fumbled to open it, realizing as he felt the small candies that without his sight, he'd really have no idea what flavour to expect each time he popped one in his mouth. The idea sort of unnerved him, but he tried one anyway. Hmm, paint. The funny thing was, it wasn't half bad.

"Maybe he wants to talk," Hermione was chiding, sounding an awful lot like Remus. Harry didn't mind that. He missed Remus, and wondered how long he'd have to wait to see him. "Maybe he needs to get it all out of his system."

Harry really didn't, though he also didn't want to say as much. "Maybe he wants to hear what's been going on around here for the last three weeks," he said to distract them, though it occurred to him that that was a stupid question. It was a school, after all. "Um, are you guys missing classes to be here?"

"It's lunchtime," they said in unison, and then giggled. Harry could just imagine them holding hands, their fingers twining together.

He gave a little smile of his own, but it was tinged with sadness. "I don't know how I'm going to catch up on everything I missed," he admitted. "I mean, I didn't even know before, but now...?"

"Oh, you'll get your sight back," Hermione assured him. "And your magic, too."

Harry gulped. "Um, everybody knows, huh?"

"Well, it was sort of hard to miss," Ron explained. "Sorry to have to tell you this, but you made the front page again. Captured Death Eaters confirm that Boy-Who-Lived poses no more threat to You-Know-Who, something like that."

"Captured? Where?"

"Here. We all had to stay inside the castle for a few days after... er, Samhain, 'cause there were so many Death Eaters in the vicinity. Quidditch practice was even cancelled! Oh, shite, sorry!"

"Sorry," Harry blankly repeated, but Ron's telling silence cleared up the mystery. "You can mention Quidditch, Ron," he assured his friend. "And chess, and whatever else you like, even if I can't see it, all right? But tell me first about the Death Eaters."

"Not a whole lot to tell, since they couldn't get onto the castle grounds, or so we were told, anyway. Hermione here has her suspicions. Anyway, they started going away after the Aurors began capturing them."

"Who'd they get?" Harry wanted to know, though his throat felt thick when he went on, "Lucius Malfoy?"

"Nah. Sorry. We sort of heard it was mostly Malfoy who um, well, you know, did those awful things to you."

"Sort of heard?" Harry questioned.

"Er, well," Harry could almost hear Ron blushing. "Even after that story came out, you were gone for days, and we were so worried, 'Mione and me. So the instant they got you in here, we came running. But then they kicked us out, so we sneaked back using your dad's old cloak and kind of eavesdropped."

"Kind of eavesdropped?" Harry echoed, laughing that time. Ah, did it feel good to laugh, even if it jarred his headache a bit. "I guess that's why the headmaster said he'd confiscated my cloak."

"Oh, he told us you'd get it back," Ron assured him.

"Still, I think it's horribly irresponsible of the Prophet to print that story," Hermione huffed.

"I think it's bloody magnificent," Harry declared, amazing them both. "You don't know what it's like having everybody always looking to you, expecting you to be this amazing hero just because Avada Kedavra bounced off your head when you were too young to remember."

"I think people have a few more reasons than that to look up to you, Harry," Hermione objected.

"Yeah, well, I could use the break," Harry decided. "Not that I can see them looking, anyway, but that won't last forever. I'll get my sight back."

"That's the spirit," Ron encouraged. "Buck up. Good job."

"This isn't positive thinking," Harry corrected him. "I know I should be panicking or freaking out or, well, something. I mean, darkness all around. It could be pretty scary... but I know, I just know I'll get my vision back. I've been..." He hesitated, but knew his friends wouldn't think he was pulling a Trelawney if he told them. Actually, some students at Hogwarts would, but not these two. "See, I've having dreams that come true, lately. Er, not all my dreams, but lots. I even dreamed this, that I'd be blind and in the hospital. But I also dreamed that I could see again, later, so it'll be okay." He frowned, remembering what else he'd dreamed. Things about Slytherins, and Malfoy, and hitting Ron.

"What is it?" Hermione pressed, seeing that frown.

"Oh, nothing," Harry excused, but before she could Harry... him again, he went on, "Hungry, I suppose. I mean, I slept through breakfast."

"You need the rest," Hermione acknowledged. He heard her leaning down towards him, but at the last moment some look on his face must have made her think twice about touching him. "Ron and I will tell Madam Pomfrey you want some food, all right?"

"Tell her to keep that Malfoy git out of my face," Harry growled. "He's been by here twice, now. It's getting pretty creepy."

"Twice when you were alone?" Ron pressed.

"No, the first time Dumbledore was with me," Harry remembered. He thought about mentioning the mysterious gift, but decided that it wasn't a good idea to set Ron off, again.

"Well, I'm sure he gave the little twit what-for," Ron approved, sounding like he was nodding vigorously.

"Dumbledore didn't get a chance to," Harry admitted. "I gave him what-for. I threw a bunch of stuff at him. Missed, but oh, well. Dumbledore did take points, though. From Malfoy, I mean."

Ron was building up a head of steam, and was far from through. "I should think so! Imagine him having the gall to come around here when it's his own bloody precious father who got you into this state. Well, him and Snape."

As hurt as Harry was feeling after what he'd heard in the middle of the night, he wasn't about to stand for anybody badmouthing Snape. Well, not about the Samhain stuff, anyway. "No," he argued. "That isn't true. Not the last part."

"Oh, come on," Ron urged.

Harry crossed his arms. "You can think what you want. I'm not going to listen to it."

"Harry--"

Harry interrupted him to turn in the direction of Hermione's voice. "You have Potions class today, don't you? Give Snape a message from me. Tell him I'm sorry. He'll know what about."

"You're sorry," Ron gasped. From the sound of it, he was turning a nice shade of red. Or purple, even. "You're sorry! You're absolutely mental, you are! What have you got to be sorry for, that you didn't have three eyes for those bastards to skewer?"

"Ron, you're not helping," Hermione chided. A scuffling sound ensued, and Harry suspected she was pushing Ron away. "Just calm down," she whispered from a short distance away. "Harry's not himself. Can you blame him?"

"Harry can hear you," Harry called. "And I'm managing just fine, thanks. I owe Professor Snape an apology, and--"

"He owes Snape an apology!" That time Ron sounded like he was positively choking. "Of all the nutters things I've ever heard, Harry, that's the nuttiest, bar none!"

"Shut up, Ron!" Hermione flatly commanded. She took a few steps toward Harry. "I'll tell him, yes. Is there anything else you need?"

Harry took a moment to think about that. "I need Ron to say we're all right."

Ron sort of mumbled for a second before he admitted, "Well, 'course we're all right, Harry. I just... I just think you haven't really realised what that git put you through."

"That git," Harry snarled. "Saved my life! Again!"

"Yeah, well it took him long enough!"

"He did what he could!"

"Maybe we'd better leave," Hermione broke in. "We'll come by later when tempers are cooler."

"Yeah, do that," Harry agreed, his teeth still clenched. "And let's all agree here and now that we're not going to talk about Snape, all right? Is that goddamned good and clear? Don't you two even mention Snape to me! I can't bear it!"

"Fine," Ron snapped.

Hermione, however had gone strangely silent, until she said, "Oh. Hallo, Professor."

Harry's breath froze solid in his chest. "Professor?"

No answer.

"Um, he walked on past," Hermione admitted, a niggling sound telling Harry that she was worrying her lips with her teeth. "He was carrying some vials, probably went into Madam Pomfrey's office using the corridor entrance." She sighed then, and said to Ron, "Even you have to admit that Snape's been working day and night preparing Harry completely fresh potions for all his... er, injuries."

"Yeah," Ron did admit. "Even during class. He's brewing away while we get stuck doing bookwork. Well, all of us except his little pet creep."

"You don't mean--"

"Yeah, I do mean," Ron groused. "Malfoy. He gets to be up at the demonstration table, snarky little teacher's pet that he is, and help Snape make batch after batch of glop."

"Malfoy's helping brew my Potions?" Harry sucked in a huge, panicked breath, only to find he'd accidentally inhaled a Bertie Bott's Bean. He tried to breathe again and couldn't, at least not until Hermione abruptly pounded him on the back. Shite, did that hurt. All over the pinpricks that hadn't quite healed over. And worse than that, it gave him the creeps to have Hermione's hands on him, which was just plain ridiculous! At least she hadn't touched his skin. That made it bearable. Barely.

Once recovered, Harry didn't know what to say. Draco Malfoy was helping make his Potions? And Snape was letting him? It was beyond strange; it was downright alarming. The only thing he was sure of was that wanted to be alone to think about it. "Um... you said lunchtime. I think I'd better eat, okay?"

"An excellent notion," Madam Pomfrey practically sang as she sailed into the ward from her office. "Professor Snape has just dropped off both halves of your Sight Restorative. You remember the procedure, Mr Potter? Green first, with food, and an hour after, blue."

"I can't see green from blue," Harry pointed out. "Though I think I can smell them apart. The follow-up potion's absolutely gross. Tastes like liquorice that's been half-digested and vomited back out."

"Are you quite sure of that, Mr Potter?"

"Well, maybe it's more like rotten liquorice that's been half-digested and--"

"Are you quite sure you can't perceive any colours whatsoever?" the Medi-Witch clarified, impatience ringing in her tones. He heard a wand swishing in front of his eyes, heard a quiet Lumos Maxiliare. "What can you see?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" she echoed in disbelief.

"Pitch black," Harry clarified.

Her robes rustled as she put something away. The wand, he suspected. "Well, drink your potions anyway." She waited while he sniffed them both, then set the blue one aside. "Very good, although I'm sure you'll be able to see light before too long, and detect colour as well. Ah, here's your food."

Harry felt the tray descend on his legs, then lift up to float slightly above. Patting around, he found what seemed like a carrot stick, and began munching it. It turned out to be a turnip stick, and as he chewed his way through it, he realised that he didn't really care if Ron and Hermione stuck around for the whole meal and saw him making a total mess of himself.

Apparently, Poppy Pomfrey did. "Well, off with you!" she shooed the students. "You'll be needing your own lunch too, and the house-elves only serve another fifteen minutes, you know. I wouldn't think Miss Granger would care to give them extra labours."

"Hermione," Harry reminded her between bites. "Give the professor my message. Don't forget."

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Over the next two days, Harry grew used to being interrupted every few minutes, or so it seemed, by loads and loads of visitors. Every single one of his teachers stepped in, with the notable exception of Snape, though he was around plenty. Harry heard him sometimes, a low voice beyond the wall, talking to Madam Pomfrey each time he delivered a fresh batch of potions. He could make out enough words, too, to know that he was telling the Medi-Witch just how to use each brew, no matter that he'd given her the same instructions every time he'd come. It irritated Madam Pomfrey, Harry could tell, but Snape didn't appear to care at all about that. Even when she told him, point blank, that she'd been healing children since you were here at school, Severus, he'd merely replied Mr Potter's treatment will not be compromised for anything, Poppy, not even your considerable pride.

It didn't sound to Harry like the man positively hated him, and he certainly hadn't stopped making his potions as he'd threatened, but that was little solace after the awful things he'd heard Snape saying to Dumbledore. And too, there was this business about Snape letting Malfoy help make the various salves and elixirs Harry was taking every day and night. It gave him the heebie-jeebies every time he had to swallow something, but he did trust Snape, so he went ahead and swallowed anyway. After all, Snape was a Potions Master. He'd know if something had been adulterated. And anyway, Harry was pretty sure that even an angry-at-that-stupid-Potter Snape wouldn't hesitate to expel Malfoy if the Slytherin boy actually tried to poison him.

All the same, he didn't like the idea that Malfoy had been hovering around his potions.

And he liked even less the fact that Snape was obviously avoiding him like the plague.

Ron and Hermione came back several more times, mostly for short chats during which no-one dared mention Snape. Each evening, however, Hermione felt absolutely compelled to lecture Harry on all he'd missed in the last few weeks of classes, Potions included. Harry put up with it in good humour, though; he really did want to catch up, though it all seemed rather daunting, the things the students had moved on to while he'd been away. At least after a couple of hours of it she was willing for the three of them move on to another topic.

All the sixth-year Gryffindors stopped by to see him, and loads of the older and younger students, too. A fair number of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws visited, as well. Mostly the students came in groups of three or four, and stayed just a few minutes while Harry tried hard not to feel like he was some freak on display. He often wondered what he looked like, now. Madam Pomfrey had mentioned in passing that his eyes weren't bandaged because exposure to the air, and to normal variations of light as the day waxed and waned, would help with healing. He remembered the needles, vividly remembered the pain, and so he knew his face must have been utterly mangled. But nobody who came to see him gasped in shock, or even spoke in the stilted way people had when they tried to bear the unbearable, so he knew he couldn't look that bad. But surely he couldn't look normal, could he, not when Potions worked but half as well as they should?

There wasn't anyone he could ask, he realised. Every kindly soul who visited, even Ron and Hermione, would soften the truth with good will, or little white lies. So Harry didn't ask, though from time to time he still wondered.

With so many people coming by to see him, Harry got pretty good at opening cards he couldn't see. Thankfully, most of them were a benign version of Howlers, so pretty voices would chant, or sing, or sometimes positively chime messages at him. He got very good at unwrapping candies, sight unseen, and was just thankful that Fred and George weren't there to gift him with their strange ideas about what made a sweet fun.

There was no shortage of flowers beside his bed, mainly because a few of the Hufflepuff girls got pretty ridiculous and sent him self-propagating bouquets. By the second night, the room smelled like the greenhouses in full spring bloom, but when Harry complained a bit, Ron said the girls were sending the flowers because they liked Harry. When Harry said well sure they liked him, Ron and Hermione started giggling madly again. Then Hermione explained that Brenda and Strella and Halsey and Kat didn't just like him, they liked-him-liked-him. Harry said that was a stupid way to put it, and when Ron agreed, he got to listen to Ron and Hermione bicker over it.

Just to shock them into forgetting their argument, he unwrapped a Chocolate Frog and caught it before it could really go anywhere.

Ron seemed to be having a hard time talking, but finally he came out with, "Are you having us on, mate? Your vision's back!"

"Nah. Just Seeker reflexes," Harry passed it off.

Suddenly feeling tired, he lay back and closed his eyes. He didn't want to ask, he really didn't, especially not in front of Ron, but he'd been waiting for two days for Hermione to bring it up, and she hadn't. Probably for the same reason: Ron.

But he couldn't wait any longer.

"Did you tell him?" Harry abruptly asked, brushing the Chocolate Frog wrapper off his bed.

Hermione didn't have to ask tell whom what? She knew. "Yes. Of course I told him."

She wasn't going to say anything more? She was going to make Harry drag it out of her? Well, fine then. "What did he say?"

Hermione's robes made a fluttering little noise. Harry's guess was that she'd bent down to retrieve the Chocolate Frog wrapper, to save the house-elves some work since the hospital floor wasn't spelled to eliminate its own messes. It couldn't be. Sometimes the Medi-Witch had to see just what foul substance a student's body had decided to produce.

"Hermione?"

"He didn't say anything, mate," Ron put in, sounding as though he was trying to be helpful. "I had to stay after to scrub cauldrons. Heard the whole thing."

"Liar," Harry accused, but without rancour. "Oh, not about the cauldrons; I'm sure that's true. But come on, how bad could it have been? You went up, and you said... well, what, exactly? How'd you put it?"

Hermione thought back to two days earlier. "'Sir. May I have a moment of your time? Harry asked me to pass on a message. He wants you to know that he's sorry.'"

"And think, she didn't even choke on it," Ron put in. "Just stood there, polite as you please, and gave him your message like you wanted."

Harry could appreciate, really appreciate, that Ron was trying to behave, so he overlooked the "choke" comment to simply press, "But what did he reply? Hermione?"

"Don't make me tell you," she begged.

Oh, Merlin. It's bad, then. Well, the way Harry figured it, he might as well know the worst. "Hermione," he chided, in exactly that tone she always used to get him to spill.

"Oh, all right," she grumbled, the candy wrapper making crinkling noises as she twisted it. "All right! So, I had just said, 'He wants you to know that he's sorry,' and Professor Snape looked straight down at me in that glaring way he has, and growled two words."

"Two words?"

Ron took over, and divulged, "Yeah, two words. Get. Out. That's all he said, Harry, I swear. Just, Get. Out."

"Shite," Harry swore out loud.

"Yeah," Ron agreed, evidently thinking Harry was calling Snape a shite. "And I didn't even do anything to be assigned cauldron duty, either."

"Not anything?"

"No--"

"Ron, you only glared at him like he was the devil's own spawn for two solid hours!" Hermione reminded him.

"It was my way of sticking up for Harry!"

Uh-oh. Harry could see the trend of the conversation, and he didn't like it. "That's it," he shortly announced, his nerves set on edge. Get. Out. What was that? "I'm really tired out. So I'll see you two tomorrow, okay?"

"Yeah, okay," Ron agreed.

"'Night, Harry," Hermione bid him, quietly leaning over to peck him on the cheek.

Harry flinched back a yard, almost knocking himself completely off the bed.

"Harry!"

"It's nothing," he insisted, levering himself back into a stable position.

"It's not nothing if you can't stand a simple touch!" Hermione exclaimed. "This is really serious!"

"You," Harry said in a hard tone, "do not know what I went through. I don't care what you heard eavesdropping, you do not know what it was like, you do not know what I suffered, and you do not know how I'm feeling now! And while I'm at it, you do not know what I think about Snape! Got that?"

"Harry, I wouldn't hurt you," Hermione exclaimed, her voice so close it scared him. "Not about Snape, or any of the rest of it. I'm your friend!"

"Then back the eff off!" Harry all but screamed, clawing panic starting to tear him apart inside. He didn't really think she'd touch him again; that wouldn't be like her, but the mere prospect was enough to shatter him.

He heard Hermione stepping backwards, trying to turn the storm into calm, her voice light and casual. "We'll see you again tomorrow, Harry."

"Yeah," Harry managed to grumble, already ashamed of himself. But he couldn't help it. Every time he had the slightest physical contact with anyone ---hell, even Madam Pomfrey who was doing nothing but taking good care of him--- he completely freaked out. And it was only getting worse, not better. The more time he had to think back to Samhain and remember, the crazier it made him. "Tomorrow, yeah."

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His dreams that night were dark and ugly, filled with faceless monsters who spoke in Lucius Malfoy's saccharine, superior drawl. Hands were all around, grabbing him, holding him down to be tortured. It wasn't hot needles that lanced into him, though, this time it was blazing hot pokers like Uncle Vernon used to use back before the fireplace had been bricked over. Thick, iron pokers, searing with heat, and Lucius was plunging them into him, over and over, laughing. Cackling, chortling, guffawing... and then Draco was there, too. He wasn't laughing. He was filing his nails, the sound grating on Harry's ears as Draco said in utterly bored tones, "He's screaming again, Father. It's so vulgar. So very Muggle."

The scene changed, and his wand was flying through the air in an arc that seemed to span all England, flying out of his hands to soar out over the Atlantic, then plunge down to a watery grave. His wand that twinned Voldemort's, the only real weapon he'd ever had... and it was gone. Gone forever, as Lucius Malfoy kept laughing.

And then the hands were back, clawing at him this time, shredding his skin. No hot pokers now; the hands themselves were forged in fire, burning the muscles they unsheathed.

Harry screamed, his back a raw mess, only to find that somebody was holding him, stroking salve across his injuries. An herbal scent rose from the steaming wounds, the smell of healing potions, and Harry relaxed into the arms around him. It was all right to be touched, just now. But at the same time those hands were so caring, so loving, yes, loving, voices were echoing all around him. Or rather, one man's voice, a dark sardonic drawl casting contradictory comments on the wind, until they spun and whirled in Harry's mind.

I care nothing for what a sixteen year-old whelp thinks of me..... You are not alone..... Trust is necessary to fight the Dark Lord effectively. We failed last year, Mr Potter..... You will know not to question me again.....We'll work on your pathetic inability to lie convincingly another time, Gryffindor......I do believe I prefer you insolent, all things considered......Let him suffer. I certainly can't bring myself to care.... You may wake me anytime you have need, any need.

That last phrase started circling his thoughts, taking hold of them in a stranglehold, refusing to let go. You may wake me anytime you have need, anytime you have need...

But he couldn't, could he? Because Snape hated him now, didn't even want to brew his potions, was letting Malfoy help with them! Snape had promised to come to talk to him, and he hadn't, not once, not even after Harry sent the apology!

Still that voice kept talking, though: You may wake me anytime you have need. Any need. Any need...

Inside his dream, Harry started shrieking, his throat on fire as he poured all his pain and anger and fear into one word. One word, but he screamed it ceaselessly, over and over, his body aching to be touched and held again, even while his mind rebelled against that very prospect. The whole horror of Samhain coalesced into a single name as he flailed on the bed, his dream bleeding out into the hospital wing, into a life where people heard him and came running, footsteps all around, hands trying to calm him.

Hands he couldn't stand, hands he couldn't trust.

The margin between dreams and real life shattered, then, and Harry came awake, but he couldn't stop flailing, or stop his screams for Snape.

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Coming Soon in A Year Like None Other:

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Long After Midnight

~

Comments very welcome,

Aspen in the Sunlight


Betaed by the Fabulous Mercredi.
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